by Luis Samways
7
Deadly Tales
(7 thrilling Reads!)
Luis Samways
Text © 2014 by Luis Samways
All rights reserved.
Cover Design by The Purple Book Co.
Luis Samways has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.
This book is a work of fiction and, except in the case of historical fact, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
EBook Edition first published in May 2014
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© 2014 by the Purple Book Co.
The Books:
COBWEBS
The Casual Killer
25th of Dismember
ALL F**KED UP
Ice Cold Case
Death Roulette
Das Death
Luis Samways
COBWEBS
A short story
One
“Honey, can you come to the bathroom and get rid of this spider?” Melisa shouts as she straddles the toilet, lifting her skirt off the rim as if the spider were making for her legs.
Andy is downstairs holding a glass under the tap, about to unwind the handle and pour himself a drink of cold water. The hot sun bakes through the window overlooking the garden as he shudders at the thought of rescuing his wife from the eight-legged arachnid upstairs.
“Okay, dear,” he says as the water from the tap spurts into the glass.
He sighs and downs the water in one gulp. He gently puts the glass in the sink and wipes the sweat off his brow.
“Goddamn weather,” he says idly as he scratches his arm while walking out of the kitchen.
The weather makes him feel hot and sticky. He isn’t a fan of the summertime and hates to overexert himself during such searing heat.
“Hurry, it’s fucking massive!” Melisa shouts from the bathroom, her voice bouncing off the walls as Andy creaks up the stairs of the old-fashioned family home.
He smiles to himself, not quite believing the putrid tone his wife is taking. Melisa never swears, and when she does, Andy enjoys teasing her over her crassness.
“Where is it?” he asks as he reaches the bathroom. He sees his wife on top of the toilet, unmoving yet fidgety in her demeanor.
“Over there.” She points to the bath.
In reality Andy is as scared as his wife, but he keeps his fears hidden as he approaches the bath. He immediately sees the spider in the base of the bath. Specks of water surround the small critter like candles at a séance. He grabs some toilet paper and scrunches it up.
“What are you doing?” his wife asks.
“I’m going to kill it,” he says plainly.
“What if you miss?”
“Then I miss,” he says.
“It could crawl up your arm, you know.”
The thought of a spider crawling up his arm makes Andy a little nervous. He stalls for time.
“What are you waiting for?” she asks.
“Just trying to get the idea of a spider making its way up my arm out of my head,” he says, scrunching the toilet paper up in his hands.
“I’m sure you’ll be fine.”
“One can only hope,” says Andy.
He immediately dives into the bath and swipes for the lonesome spider at the bottom end of the unit. He can feel the spider’s body crunch underneath his hand as he squashes the spider firmly into the toilet paper. He stands back up and turns his hand over to survey the damage.
“Splat,” he says, almost sadistically.
“Don’t show me! Flush it down the toilet already,” Melisa says as she gets down from the toilet and firmly back on the ground.
Andy’s tall and slender body breathes in a sigh of relief as he chucks the rolled-up tissue into the toilet and flushes. He turns to face his beautiful blonde wife, who is wearing a summer dress with flowers on it. For a moment he nearly jumps out of his skin when he sees something strange on her dress. A black mark near the trim makes itself present to Andy as he nearly yelps in fear.
“What? What’s wrong?” Melisa asks, looking at the floor around her.
Andy laughs out loud as he realizes that what he mistook for another spider was merely a printed branch to go along with the flowers on her dress.
“I thought I saw a spider on your dress,” he says.
Melisa nearly rips her dress off as she struggles to find what she is looking for in a panic. Andy can’t help but laugh even louder at his hysterical wife.
“I said I THOUGHT I saw a spider. It’s nothing, just a pattern on your dress,” he says.
Melisa quickly pushes her dress back down to its original place, red-faced and flustered from the immediate panic she felt at her husband’s remark.
“You dick!” she says, smiling at her well-groomed husband.
She goes in for a kiss. She embraces him for a long while.
“My hero,” she says, looking up at him with bright eyes.
“That’s what I’m here for. That, and opening pickle jars.”
Two
“So the house is worth $380,000 on the market. Are you wanting to sell, or do you want to lease it out?” the real-estate agent asks as he sips on his cup of coffee. He’s a plain-looking middle-aged gentleman. A man you wouldn’t notice in a hurry. He has an awful habit of tapping on the table with his pinkie finger. It doesn’t help the already tense situation.
Andy nearly spits his coffee out of his mouth. He looks at his wife and wipes his face.
“That’s a $100,000 more than we thought we’d get for this house,” he says.
“The land bumps up the value quite a bit. Four bedrooms, two bathrooms, a spacious open-plan living area, two outbuildings, a pool, and three acres of land. A good price overall. We could push for $400,000 if we wanted.” The estate agent starts sifting through some files. “Maybe $410,000 if we really push it,” he continues.
Andy looks at Melisa with bated breath. “$410,000 should cover it,” he says playfully.
The real-estate agent smiles. “Indeed,” he says as he continues to tap his little finger on the hard grain-like wood surface of the dining room table. The beam of light coming from the windows adjacent to the room invites warm air into the vicinity. Specks of dust dance around them as they go about the important meeting.
“So the deeds to the house are in your names?” asks the realtor.
“It’s in my mother’s name. She passed away not too long ago. She left me and Melisa the house,” says Andy.
“Both of you?” The real-estate agent sifts through some more papers.
“Yes, well, just me, really, but what’s mine is hers,” he says.
“We need to put her on the deeds, then,” says the real-estate agent.
“It’ll be done on Monday,” says Andy.
“Good,” says the real-estate agent. He stops sifting through his files and comes across the paper he was looking for. He reads it for a moment. The excitement and tension in the room is palpable. “Ah, found it. All I need you to do is sign either this one, or that one,” he says, holding up two separate pieces of paper in each hand.
“What are they?” asks Melisa.
“Left one is a ‘To Lease’ form, and the right is a ‘To Sell’ form,’ says the real-estate agent, gesturing with the two forms.
“To sell?” says Andy, looking at his wife.
She nods her head. “I think it’s for the best. I love your mom’s house, but the place gives me t
he creeps,” she says. The real-estate agent raises his eyebrow at her comment.
“Why? What’s wrong with the place?” he asks, giving Melisa his undivided attention for what seems like the first time that day.
“It’s just we get a lot of bugs in this place,” she says.
“No rats?” asks the real-estate agent.
“Nope, just bugs.”
“What sort of bugs?”
“Spiders, mostly,” says Andy, butting into the conversation. “Nothing too serious,” he says.
“What sort of spiders?” asks the real-estate agent.
“I don’t know, little black ones, I guess,” says Melisa.
“Hmmm,” says the real-estate agent. He thumbs through some more documents. “Will we need to get a fumigator down here?” he asks.
Melisa shrugs. “Beats me,” she says.
The real-estate agent looks at Andy. “You found a nest?” he asks.
“Nope. Just a few spiders. Nothing spectacular. Hazards of the country, I guess,” says Andy, biting his nails.
“Good. Well, I’ll get these papers sorted out and get back to you guys as soon as possible. Keep an eye out for any other spiders. Get rid of the ones you find, and if you find more after that, then I suggest you get someone on it. I don’t really want to show people a house that could have a spider infestation,’ says the real-estate agent, wiping his brow. “My, my, it’s hot in here,” he says as he gets up.
He extends his hand out and shakes both of their hands. He makes his way to the door and out to his car. Andy and Melisa watch from the porch as he gets into his car. The car reverses down the road and leaves a slight dusty residue in the air. The crickets buzz in the afternoon sun. Melisa kisses Andy on the cheek and makes her way inside. Andy looks out at the view from the porch. A few dozen trees pepper the perimeter of the house. He looks up at the sun and shields his eyes. The sound of the countryside plays in the background as he spots a small cobweb in the corner of the porch, just above the front door to the house.
“Fucking spiders,” he says as he turns around and walks into the house, slamming the door behind him.
Three
“Looks like you guys have a spider problem,” says the fat fumigator while wiping his heavily saturated brow. The fumigator’s face is red with color, his eyebrows moist with sweat, his black hair combed back, slick and wet. The man is wearing some blue overalls that look as if they could do with a wash.
Andy and Melisa look at each other and then back at the heavyset fumigator.
“A spider problem?” asks Andy.
The fat fumigator nods his head. “Yeah, a really bad one by the looks of it,” he says, still nodding with every syllable that leaves his mouth. Andy just looks on, unsure of how to react.
“Are you sure?” he says, still analyzing the man standing in front of him.
The fumigator wipes his brow with a dirty yellow cloth that was once white. “As sure as I can be,” he says.
Andy looks at Melisa, who seems to be repulsed by the blunt fumigator.
“What do we do, then?” she asks, finally saying something.
“You get rid of them — unless you’re okay with sharing the house with black widows,” he says.
Melisa’s face drops. “Black widows?” she repeats.
“Aren’t they dangerous?” asks Andy.
“About as dangerous as any other spiders. They are venomous, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Can they kill?” asks Melisa.
“Sure, if there are a load of them,” the fumigator says.
“How many do you think there are?” asks Andy, who is now pacing the width of the corridor in which this meeting of the minds is taking place.
“Judging by some of the telltale signs these critters leave behind, I’d say you have a nest on your hands, maybe even two,” says the fumigator while lighting a cigarette.
“You can’t smoke in here,” says Melisa.
The man shrugs. “If you get the place fumigated, you’ll have a ton of smoke in here. One cigarette ain’t going to make the slightest bit of difference, ma’am.”
“He’s right. Don’t worry about that now. Let’s get back to the subject at hand. Do you think we should fumigate the house?” asks Andy.
“Yeah, and if I was you, I’d be starting as soon as possible. A few bites from these bastards, and you could be done for. Better be safe than sorry.”
Four
Andy and Melisa pull into the plush-looking driveway. It’s draped with fairy lights on the trees and water features that seem to stretch on for miles. It’s a pleasant-looking area, quaint, but homely at the same time. The sort of place you would think was a hotel of some sorts. Andy brakes firmly, and the car rolls to a stop. The blinking light on the dash flickers a few times before he takes the key out of the ignition. The engine ticks away as it powers down. He looks across at his wife, who looks a little nervous.
“It will be okay. I’m sure the house will be fine,” he says.
Melisa just nods. “Yeah,” she says, trying to convince herself more than anyone else. She looks up at the rear-view mirror and catches a glimpse of her tired eyes.
“It’s been a long day. A good night’s sleep will sort you out, dear,” says Andy, noticing Melisa’s disappointment at her appearance.
That was the thing she loved about her husband. He was considerate beyond most people and loved to shower her with compliments.
“Thanks, Andy,” she says, appreciating his splendid way with words, which makes her fuzzy inside.
“No problem.” He gestures with his hands as if he wants to sweep her away into the sunset.
“My parents were puzzled as to why we wanted to stay at their ‘abode,’” says Melisa, taking hold of her husband’s hand and squeezing gently.
‘Well, you know that we normal folk don’t usually stay in ‘abodes,’” says Andy playfully as he spots the door to the rather large house opening up and a well-dressed older woman signaling them in with a smile as wide as the Joker’s. “At least she looks pleased to see us,” he says, smiling and waving through the car windshield.
“It’s not her I’m worried about,” smiles Melisa.
Both of them get out of the car, lugging a few possessions in each hand. The sound of the mini suitcase wheels hitting the gravel crunches along the pavement. Andy sports a pleasant smile and is first to reach the door, Melisa tags behind a few paces.
“Andy, my dear, how are you?” the smiling lady asks as she immediately offers help with his luggage.
Andy kindly refuses, holding tightly to his suitcase. “I’m fine, Patsy,” he says, beaming with splendor as he usually does. Melisa, on the other hand, looks flustered and tries not to make too much eye contact with her mother.
“Melisa, are you okay? You look positively lampooned!” says Patsy. Melisa just shrugs and gently pushes past her mother.
Andy looks on as Patsy gives him a questioning look. “What’s wrong with my girl? Have you two been fighting? She isn’t pregnant, is she?” asks Patsy, in the bullet-point way only a mother can pull off.
“It’s a long story, Patsy. Pour me a scotch, and I’ll divulge,” he says.
Patsy screws her face into a forced yet warming smile. Both of them enter the large house and gently swing the door shut.
Five
“You been hitting my daughter?” asks Melisa’s dad as he sits down in his big red leather chair. He puts down his copy of the Financial Times and picks up his Cuban as he eyes Andy as he sits opposite him on the less red and much lesser leather chair.
“Of course I haven’t been hitting Melisa,” says Andy as he shifts himself into a comfortable spot on the rustic-looking chair.
“So why does she look like she’s been knocked around, then?”
Andy nearly laughs but manages to hold his chuckle down to a mere mumble. “We’ve had some bug problems at our house. The fumigators are there — that’s why we’re here,” says Andy.
; Melisa’s dad raises his eyebrow. “Bugs, huh? That mother of yours kept the house in such a condition that bugs would form in and around the premises?” says Melisa’s dad scornfully as he tuts while pulling on his Cuban.
Andy refrains from an outburst. The loss of his mother is still sore on his heart. He decides to change the conversation. “How’s the stock markets?” he asks, trying to find some safe ground to tread on.
“Crap,” Melissa’s dad says.
At that moment, Patsy walks in with a tray of refreshments. A combination of carbonated favorites and bourbons don the tray. She puts the flimsy metal tray down on the low-legged table between Andy and her husband.
Patsy can feel the tension in the room as Andy looks at her with welcoming eyes. She darts her head slightly to the right and sees her husband grunt. “I got you two some drinks. It’s mighty hot outside. Maybe a nice soft or STRONG drink will sort you two out,” she says.
Andy smiles. “I’ll have a whisky,” he says.
Patsy hands over a two-finger of whisky. She looks at her husband across the way. “And you, dear?”
“I’m okay,” he says.
“You sure, Peter?”
“Yeah,” he says.
“Where’s Melisa?” asks Andy.
“She’s gone to bed. She said she was tired,” says Patsy.
“You worn my daughter out, Andy?”
Andy starts to laugh.
It catches Peter off-guard. “What’s so fucking funny?”
“Nothing, sir. It’s just I don’t know what you could possibly mean by that,” he says.
‘I mean, have you been running my daughter down? You seem like the type to take out your insecurities on women… Just an observation.”
Andy remains silent. He downs his drink and stands up. “I’m off to bed as well,” he says.
“Good, dear. Go get some rest,” Patsy says.
“And no funny business,” says Melisa’s dad as he pulls on his Cuban once more.
